


Ten Righteous Men

by zorb



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-24
Updated: 2006-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 21:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zorb/pseuds/zorb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the <a href="http://medie.livejournal.com/1287733.html">porn battle</a>, because I'm incapable of writing anything short.  Unbetaed; I apologize for any errors and for the porn.  Also, I'm a heathen, so please excuse any unintentional offense.  I've never written anything quite this dirty and for all I know, it's laughably bad.   Enjoy it either way!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Ten Righteous Men

**Author's Note:**

> For the [porn battle](http://medie.livejournal.com/1287733.html), because I'm incapable of writing anything short.  Unbetaed; I apologize for any errors and for the porn. Also, I'm a heathen, so please excuse any unintentional offense.  I've never written anything quite this dirty and for all I know, it's laughably bad.  Enjoy it either way!

She hears it through a fog, like the alcohol they've been throwing back all night has evaporated out and is hanging heavy in the air of his living room. She swims to the surface - when did her eyes close? - and picks him out through the mist. "What's that?"

He gives a sluggish start, and she thinks maybe he didn't realize he said anything. Maybe he didn't say anything. "Ten righteous men," he repeats, so maybe he did. His brow furrows; his glasses are…somewhere else, and he has to squint. "Genesis. Sodom and Gomorrah?"

The fog clears as she digs out the reference. "You're not religious."

"God marked the cities for destruction for the evils of their inhabitants. Wholesale obliteration, sulfur and fire and the whole..." He waves his hand in lazy eights and lets the motion carry him to a standing - sort of - position. Sam watches him stumble around the bottle-covered table and their discarded shoes to the couch she's sprawled across, and it's pretty funny at the same time as his continuing lecture makes her worry if he's snapped at last.

Not that she has grounds to judge.

"But Abraham goes no, let's stop and think about this for a second. They can't all be wicked. Let's not throw the baby out with the bathwater. So he asks his Lord to spare the cities if he can find fifty righteous men in them." Daniel's legs give out and he lands on the couch arm. His balance in their current state is impressive. It's all she can do to brace her head on the opposite arm and bend one knee to make room at his end.

He leans forward and gives her a direct stare that clears away the haze. "But you know what Abraham does then?" He doesn't really stop and let her say that yes, she does, she's the Catholic among them after all, but continues to his point. "He negotiates. He haggles down the price of the entire city of Sodom to ten righteous men."

Sam's pretty sure she'd be just as lost if she were stone sober. For all his words, Daniel clearly isn't, because he topples forward and lands, fortunately, with his knees on either side of her legs and his forearms framing her head. He grunts as she doesn't get her raised knee down quite fast enough and somehow manages to grimace sheepishly. With his face less than a foot from hers, the sound and smell of his breathing are overwhelming, but she knows it's just as much from her. That's probably why neither feels a need to move away.

"I've been reading up on Earth religious mythology to see if I can find any connection with the Ori," he explains.

Which answers that question. "And?"

He sighs. "The metaphor's all backwards. But there's something about that parable that's..."

"The judgment by fire? Authoritarian decision?"

"Yes. No. I don't..." He shakes his head; she catches it in her hands, rubbing circles on his temples with her thumbs. "The Hebrew people believed they could make bargains with their god. That they could talk him down from a bad decision." His head drops down, nose meandering towards her chest.

She breathes in the scent of his hair and lets one hand travel to massage his neck. "And the Ori don't negotiate?"

His voice is more muffled though she's far more alert. Her skin is breaking into goosebumps where his breath catches it and it's telling her brain to sit up and pay attention. "That's where I'm...in the Judeo-Christian view, God is both merciful and a total hard-ass. It's a contradiction and that can't really have an opposite."

She buries the indignant voice of Sister Catherine because Daniel shifts his left arm to make a better brace and free the right to slide down her side and sneak, just barely, under her shirt. Sister Catherine would have no tolerance for that, either. "We've tried negotiating," she points out, the last part ending against his bicep. All she had to do was turn her head and she can taste it with a flick of her tongue.

There's pressure on her thighs and it's him lowering himself down to bring his mouth, finally, to the bare skin at her shirt's deep vee. The feather-light touch of lips makes her gasp, which in turn presses her chest into his face, so it's good for everyone involved and the conversation slips out of her mind while he makes his way along her neckline. She needs to grab onto something and the winning candidate is the front of his jeans. She slips her fingers inside to get a grip and tugs him up her body.

Everything slides up and that includes his lips on her chest and his jeans-covered cock up her belly, _just_ grazing her where she wants it. Her legs are trapped so she abandons his head massage to grab a handful of ass, trapping his pelvis in a body vise.

Daniel grunts and uses the invitation to go eye to eye with her. They're just shy of a kiss, panting into one another's mouths. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. "I was saying something."

Fuck that. "Not important."

"Abraham."

"You want to be him. Got it." She lifts her head just enough and whatever else he might've said gets lost in their kiss. It's not fancy, but it is intense, open-mouthed and breathless as she coaxes his tongue to play with hers. Not like he's resistant, and while he relaxes into her she snakes her knee over the edge of the couch. He finally gets the picture and lets her get on the outside so that she can wrap her leg around his thigh and add pressure where they connect.

When she takes a breath, he mumbles something like, "That's not," but it doesn't seem to be more important than it is for him to trail down her jaw and grind against her. One arm is holding him above her and the other hand is taking a generous handful of breast, so it's up to her to fumble with the buttons and zippers of both their jeans. She doesn't let what he's doing to her earlobe distract her from yanking his boxers down along with his pants, and while she can't see it with her face pressed into his arm, she can damn well feel him spring free against her.

He huffs and brings his other leg in between hers, settling, but she's still far too covered up for either of their liking. "Clothes," he says, and she lets him sit back to shed what remain of his while she crosses her arms over her chest and pulls her shirt over her head. They both dispense of her jeans and underwear.

She grabs his hips in her thighs and pulls him down, skin to skin, arching her back so he can get his arms beneath her and set to work on her bra.

"Abraham," he says, and goddammit, she thought they were done with that, "didn't find ten righteous men to save." He finally gets the clasp undone, drops her bra over the side, and lifts himself up on his elbows. "The cities were destroyed."

She _so_ does not have time for this right now. She takes a deep breath and, with her legs hooked around his, flips them over the edge of the couch to the floor. Her hands and knees take the brunt of her landing, but the fall knocks the wind out of him. She sits back on his legs and grabs his wrists, bringing them together between them.

"We're not trying to save them because they're righteous, Daniel. We're trying to save _them_."

And with that, she lifts his wrists over his head and follows them down to kiss him again, driving their bodies together and driving, she hopes, all unrelated thoughts out of his head. She rocks against him, and it doesn't take long for him to get back to hard and straining. Breaking the kiss, she shifts her hips forward and rubs herself against his length, releasing his hands to grab hold of his shoulders for leverage.

"Sam," he groans, but he finally seems to get it. He gets his hands on her ass and pulls her up. She's ready and doesn't need any more invitation to settle herself over him and slide all the way on. Her breathing hitches; he holds her steady, letting her take him in at her own pace until finally, _finally_, she's got all of him.

Her sigh matches his but the pressure only builds as he shifts one hand around to tease a taut nipple. She leans into it and rocks again, setting their hips in motion, driving forward and back while he pushes up and in. He tries to lift up, mouth reaching, but they're not spring chickens and flexibility only extends so far. She dips her head to his chest and lays a kiss on each nipple to let him know it's okay before getting back into her rhythm, pushing harder and harder because it's still not enough. He's got both hands on her breasts now, working with as much concentration as she figures he can muster, and then he manages just that bit more and one hand dives down to where they're joined and he presses and she loses herself and everything else in a field of stars.

She shudders her way back down and attacks his chest again. A few moments are all it takes to bring him over the edge, as well. She rides him out all the way until they're both loose limbed and trembling, collapsed together on the floor.

She's still so very drunk and would be perfectly happy to drop off to sleep here, on his bare chest, with his fingers lazily carding through her hair.

So of course, he has other ideas.

"He didn't do it to save them," Daniel mumbles through his own post-coital, alcohol-soaked fog. "He only did it because Lot was his cousin. Without that..."

She doesn't have to interrupt because he's trailed off, maybe even fallen asleep by the stilled hand and steady rise and fall beneath her. Still, she needs to say it. "Lot's just a story. This -" she pauses to drop a kiss on the nearest skin, "is real. Real things matter."

Silence. She closes her eyes to join him in sleep. As she drifts away into a different haze, she hears the murmur of a faint response.

When she wakes in the morning, neither of them will remember what it was.


End file.
